A Prologue To Phase Iii
Dearest Vicar –
As a poet’s lines:
It is divinity proper!
Onions figure
In our everlasting divinings:
Her white ashes
Of our burn-fire
And the dew of dawn’s tears
Still coax the rainbow
To no avail
Her white ashes
Splashing wet-dusts of dark days:
Cocks crow in vain?
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